


5 Times Rose Tyler Wore Make Up (And 1 Time She Didn't)

by weezly14



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:17:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weezly14/pseuds/weezly14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prompt fic, what it says in the title. Pre-series through The Satan Pit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Times Rose Tyler Wore Make Up (And 1 Time She Didn't)

1.

 

            It’s a bit like coloring except it’s not. Bit like painting, but smellier. Or, different sort of smell. She likes coloring, likes painting, but usually she uses crayons or markers or water colors, but this time she’s got mum’s make-up, and instead of drawing a house or cats or a sunset, she’s drawing on her face like mum does before she goes out.

            She knows the names of most of the things. Lipstick goes on your lips, eye shadow on your eyes. It’s handy, the names. Mascara looks scary, and she sees mum put it near her eyes but it smells funny (it all smells funny, though) and the brush is all pointy and that’s not going anywhere near her eyes, thanks.

            She likes the blush best, she thinks. Likes the brush you use to put it on. It fells all soft on her skin, tickles a little, even. She likes the light colors of the powder, the way the particles scatter when she blows on it.

            Mum’s popped out to get chips and let Rose stay at home by herself, because she’s a big girl, and since she’s a big girl she’s decided to try out make up, like mum.

            She’s got the blush on, the lipstick, the eye shadow. Mum’s got loads of that, too, lots of colors. Rose puts on lots, of all of it. It’s fun, even if she does look a bit silly. It’s like painting, and Rose has always liked painting.

            “What d’you think you’re doing?” mum asks when she gets back, and she sounds a bit cross but she’s got a little smile.

            “I’m putting on make up, like you.”

            Jackie just smiled, set down the chips, and sat down beside Rose.

            “Looks gorgeous, sweetheart. But here, let me give you a few tips.”

            And she takes a tissue and wipes Rose’s face clean, then starts to explain.

 

2.

 

            Rose Tyler’s not much of a romantic, but she’s convinced that Jimmy Stone is the love of her life. And she knows she’s young but hadn’t mum been? Sometimes you just know.

            And she knows. Jimmy’s—he’s it for her. With his shaggy hair and hooded eyes, that lazy smile. Whenever he looks at her something flips in her stomach. They’ve been flirting for a few weeks and she’s already gone and she ignores the looks her mother shoots her, ignores Mickey’s comments, just goes on and flirts with him and lets him kiss her even though nothing’s official and he hasn’t even asked her on a date yet.

            So when he does finally ask her—when he says, “Wanna come see my band perform this weekend?” she’s over the moon. Because he’s asked her on a proper date, and yes it’s to see his band but they’ll hang out after, and she’ll get to see him, and it’s something outside of school. It’s a step forward.

            The night of the concert she spends hours getting ready, picking her outfit and applying her make up. He’d commented once that he liked all the make up she wore, that it suited her. So she made sure it was perfect, and she ignored Jackie’s comments about how he was trouble and good for nothing because she didn’t even know him, never even met him, how could she be so judgmental?

            She loses her virginity to him that night.

 

3.

 

            She never thought she’d be this girl. The sort of girl who leaves school for a man, who drops everything—friends, family, self—to chase someone who turns out to be worth nothing. After all the warnings, all the red flags, she still—

            As she stands in the bathroom, applying as much concealer as she can to cover the bruise he gave her, she can’t believe she became this girl.

            She doesn’t leave a note, just grabs her bag and goes.

            She’s not proud of who she became with him, but she’s leaving, and that’s something she can be proud of, at least.

 

4.

 

            There are a lot of things Rose Tyler never expected she’d do in her life. Running off with a man she’d just met is one of them. Traveling through space and time? Never even crossed her mind.

            But here she is with a man—an alien, she reminds herself, no matter how human he looks—she’d only just met, traveling through space and time in an old blue police box.

            Not only that, but just beyond the doors is the year 1860. 1860! He’d smiled at her and told her she needed to put on something more fitting to the times, so that’s how she found herself in this massive wardrobe, looking through suits and dresses and about every costume she could think of.

            She gets changed and reapplies her make up, and she feels a bit like a kid again, playing dress up. She knows the Doctor’s no Prince Charming, but she can’t help the way he makes her stomach flutter when he smiles at her. He’s a good man, she knows that, even if there’s a lot more she doesn’t know. She smiles at herself in the mirror when she’s finished and walks back to the console room to meet him.

            “Blimey,” he says when he sees her.

            “Don’t laugh,” she warns. But he’s not laughing, he’s got this look, like surprise or wonder or something.

            “You look beautiful.”

            It’s not the first time a bloke’s told her that, but it means more, somehow, from him.

            “Considering,” he adds, looking away. She deflates a little.

            “Considering what?”

            “That you’re human.”

            And it’s not like she’d had—they’re just mates, travelling together, and she cares for him, sure. But it’s clear that that’s all it will ever be, because she’s human and he’s not. Not matter how human he seems.

            The conversation continues and before she knows it they’re out in the past and he’s offering his arm, and he’s not Prince Charming but, well.

            He’s something.

 

5.

 

            She doesn’t usually dress up when they travel anymore, doesn’t really get in costume. Part of it is laziness and part of it is knowing the Doctor. He might say they’ll go somewhere, but with his driving they often end up somewhere different.

            But this time he’s gotten all into it, declaring that they’re going to see Elvis. He’s in his usual pinstripes but he comes into her room as she’s getting ready and asks if she’ll help him style his hair.

            “I want to get in character, Rose,” he’d said, and she’d giggled and taken the gel from him and told him to sit down.

            She often dreams about running her hands through his hair. As much as she loved him when he had his Northern accent and the ears, she can’t say she misses his hair—or lack thereof. Sure, he’d pulled it off, but her new new Doctor has a fantastic head of hair, all messy and brown. And here he’s given her the opportunity to run her hands through it, maybe not in the way she’d like to but it’s something, at least.

            He’s babbling on about Elvis and Vegas and mobsters or something, and she’s mostly just listening to the sound of his voice and not so much the words as she combs his hair back and adds more gel.

            “What’s all this?” he asks.

            “Hmm?”

            “This,” he repeated, indicating all the bottles and jars and brushes on the counter.

            “Oh, that’s just my make up,” she’d replied.

            “All of it?”

            “Yeah.”

            “You put all this stuff on your face every day?” he questions, incredulous, picking up the blush and uncapping the lid.

            “Lot of effort goes into looking this good.”           

            “You’re always beautiful,” he says distractedly, dipping a finger in the powder and touching it to his tongue briefly. “Tastes awful.”

            “You’re not supposed to eat it,” she tells him with a laugh. He continues to make a face and puts the cap back on.

            “Does all make up taste like that?”

            “I dunno, I don’t make a habit of eating my make up.”

            “But men are expected to.”

            “What?”

            “And women, I suppose,” he says, picking up more of the containers and examining them. “When you kiss, wouldn’t you taste it?”

            And he’s looking at it all in a clinical manner, talking about this like a scientist, all detached, and she wills her heart to slow down because suddenly they’re talking about kissing and this is _not_ something they discuss. Ever.

            “I—I suppose,” she replies. She finishes his hair and goes to wash her hand in the sink, and he grins at her.

            “Thank you!” he says, leaping up. “You almost ready?”

            “Just about,” she replies, drying her hands.

            “I’ll meet you in the console room then.”

            And just like that, he’s gone.

 

+1

 

            It’s been a long day. Long day doesn’t even begin to cover it. Was it only one day? She’s exhausted, and not just physically. First they lost the TARDIS, then she lost him, then—

            She’s always loved the sound of his voice but never as much as she did in that moment. And they’ve never hugged so tightly as they did when she got back to the TARDIS.

            But that was hours ago. Now she’s in her en suite, washing her face, getting ready for bed. He’s off, tinkering or reading or maybe even sleeping. He doesn’t sleep often, and when he does it’s never for very long but she has a feeling that even he might go to bed tonight. She only hopes he doesn’t have any nightmares. She wonders sometimes if he actually doesn’t need very much sleep or if he’s conditioned himself to avoid it. Once or twice he’s fallen asleep on the couch in the library and she’s had to wake up out of a bad dream.

            If things were different she might go to him tonight, not for anything other than to be close to him, but they don’t do that. Once or twice they’ve fallen asleep together in the library, but—

            As much as she wants to be near him tonight, she knows that’s not how they are, so she cleans the rest of the make up off her face and turns out the light and crawls into bed.

            She’s nearly asleep when she hears her door open.

            “Doctor?” she asks, sitting up.

            “Shh, go back to sleep,” he says quietly, not moving from the doorway.

            “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing.”

            He still doesn’t move.

            “What are you doing?”

            “I just—wanted to make sure you were all right.”

            “Do you want to come in?” Because she wants to be near him, too, and they’ve never done this before but she thought she lost him today, and anyway, she figures she can always blame it on exhaustion.

            “I—you should sleep, and I should probably—I’ll just—”

            “Doctor.”

            She can’t see his face but he nods slightly, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. It’s nearly pitch black but his eyes seem to adjust quick enough—superior Time Lord skills she’s sure—and she hears him toe off his trainers and remove his jacket. Then there’s a dip in the bed and she turns on her side to face him. They’re not touching but, you know. Baby steps.

            “This all right?” he asks quietly.

            “Yeah.”

            She can barely make out his smile in the dark. She smiles back.

            “Good night, Doctor.”

            “Good night, Rose.”

\---

            She wakes up slowly, and the first thing she notices is that her pillow feels funny. As she comes to she realizes that she’s not resting her head on her pillow, she’s resting it on the Doctor. Oh.

            “You humans sleep a lot,” he says.

            “I was tired,” she defends, snuggling into him. She’s not sure whether she can do this or not but he’s not complaining so she figures she may as well enjoy this moment as long as it lasts.

            “Clearly. You were out for nearly 8 hours.”

            “Did you sleep?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Any nightmares?”

            “No.”

            She tilts her head to look at him and smiles.

            “Good, I’m glad.”

            He smiles at her, and then his gaze turns thoughtful.

            “You’re not wearing make up.”

            Oh. She starts to pull away from him but he only tightens his grip.

            “What?” he asks.

            “I don’t usually wear make up to sleep. I can go—”

            “No,” he says, his eyes tracing her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it.”

            “Sorry.”

            “Don’t—why are you apologizing?” He looks genuinely confused now.

            “’S just—probably look a mess, don’t I?”

            “You’re gorgeous,” he says. And he says it so easily, as if this is normal for them, waking up like this. As if he tells her things like this often. She averts her eyes. “What?”

            “Nothing.”

            “Rose Tyler.” She looks at him again. “You’re beautiful.”

            Her heart is swelling, feels it might burst from his words and the way he’s looking at her and how he’s holding her to him, and she thinks that she could live with this, just this. If this is all they ever are, she thinks she might be okay with that.

            But then he kisses her. 

            She feels him smiling and she pulls back. “What?”

            “You don’t taste like make up.”

            “That a good thing?” she teases.

            He kisses her again.


End file.
